Rowan stood motionless, staring hard at the young woman before her. Tilly had always been a bit ditzy, but Chris had insisted that was part of her charm. She’d been his assistant for five years now and, as far as Rowan could tell, this was the first time she’d been anything apart from the perfect P.A.
Perhaps heartbreak was undoing her a little?
No. There’s something more. Something important you’re missing…
“I understand if you’d rather not help me.” Tilly let out a sigh, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Tilly.” Rowan closed the distance between them and smoothed her palm up Tilly’s arm. “Honest. Let’s pretend it never happened.”
Bright blue eyes glinted with tears as Tilly smiled up at her. “Thank you, Ms. Hemsworth. You won’t regret it.”
They continued walking, Tilly prattling on about what she’d seen in Australia and what she planned to do when back in the States. It was all very elaborate and seemed to involve moving into a house beyond her means.
“But it will be okay, because I’ve planned everything toward this end,” Tilly whispered, as if confiding a great secret. “And as my dad always said, you never quit on your plans, no matter what you have to do.”
Rowan’s tummy fluttered, an uncomfortable sensation only intensified when Tilly slipped her hands around Rowan’s elbow and squeezed tight.
Something about what Tilly had said sounded wrong.
“He sounds smart, your dad.” Rowan looked at the younger woman. “What does he do?”
The young woman’s smile turned dreamy. “He was Paramount Studio’s chief pyrotechnics operator for a long time. Taught me all sorts of useful things.”
“Was? Doesn’t he work anymore?”
Tilly shook her head, her eyes growing wide. Surprised. “Oh, no, he’s dead now.”
“Dead? But you said earlier—”
“He died when our house blew up six years ago,” Tilly went on, as if Rowan hadn’t utter a word. “Terrible thing. The gas pilot light somehow ignited. The cops never figured out why.”
Rowan blinked. The flutters in her belly turned to heavy knots. “But you said—”
“Of course, I know how it happened.” Tilly smirked. “Here we are.” Her fingernails dug into Rowan’s arm for a painful moment. “Now, where are the keys?” She frowned, releasing Rowan’s elbow to rummage around in her bag. “Can you see if I left them in the van, please, Ms. Hemsworth? I can’t do what’s needed for Chris if I don’t have the keys, can I?”
Rowan stepped away from her brother’s assistant. She frowned at the young woman, a churning unease rolling through her before she slid her attention to the white van parked beside a wall of storage crates before them.
A tingling tension razing her flesh, she walked to the driver’s door and peered through the window. Something told her there wasn’t any chance of spying the keys in the ignition.
Something was going on. Something…
Chris. She called him Chris. She never calls him Chris. It’s always—
She saw movement in the window’s reflection before she heard the click of the Glock’s slide.
Spinning, Rowan dropped to the ground, her broken ribs screaming in pain as her knee slammed into her side.
“It’s a prop!” Tilly shouted, waving the gun above her head. “It’s a prop. I forgot I had it in my bag.”
Rowan crouched on the ground, staring up at the young woman, every fibre and molecule in her being telling her the situation was wrong. Wrong. Her side throbbed with a hot tearing pain that radiated out from her bruised ribs.
She watched Tilly, her hands splayed on the ground, her breath rapid, her heart slamming fast.
“Sorry,” Tilly held out her empty hand, palm outward, her smile sheepish. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Ms. Hemsworth. Why would I want to shoot you?”
Heart racing, Rowan began to stand.
“When I can burn you alive in the van instead?” Tilly snarled, lunging forward to smash her foot, heel first, into Rowan’s face.
Excruciating agony detonated in Rowan’s nose, her lips. She reeled backward, her head smacking into the side of the very van Tilly planned to incinerate her in.
“The beam didn’t work—” the young woman slammed her foot into Rowan’s side, “—the trailer didn’t work.” She kicked her again. “But this will.”
Rowan blocked the kick before it could land, but the force of Tilly’s leg drove her elbow into her broken ribs. Fresh pain ripped through her, stealing her breath. She staggered sideways, refusing to fall completely. Or to cower.
“Don’t you realized that I’m what Chris needs?” Tilly went on, slamming another foot into her side. “Not you.”
Rowan rolled with the kick, agony tearing through her side. Something wet and warm slicked her top lip. She scrambled away from another kick, protecting her ribs as best she could with her arm.
She needed to get on her feet. She needed to get Tilly off hers.
“For five years, I’ve looked after him.” Tilly slammed in another strike, thrashing it about when Rowan wrapped her arm around her ankle until it was free again. “Doing what needed to be done.” She punched her heel into Rowan’s ribs. Rowan let out a strangled gasp, her grip on the woman’s leg faltering.
Tilly broke free, a wild laugh tearing from her as she smashed her foot down onto Rowan’s fingers and then slammed a kick into her side again.
“He only needed me,” she snarled, her stare venomous. “And then you came and tried to mess with my plans!” Each word was punctuated by a savage kick to Rowan’s ribs. Each kick detonated splintering white-hot pain in Rowan’s side.
She curled in a ball, desperate to shield her injury. Desperate for a chance to strike back.
“But. Nothing. Fucks. With. My. Plans,” she yelled with a savage kick to Rowan’s ribs. “Ever.”
She swung her foot back farther, her eyes wild, her stare locked on Rowan’s face.
It was the split-second break Rowan needed.
She lashed out with her own leg in a low sweep, smashing her ankle into the side of Tilly’s knee.
The young woman staggered sideways, hand going to her shattered knee, hateful glare fixed on Rowan. “Cunt!”
Rowan flipped herself to her feet. Agony ripped through her ribs, but she ignored it. She had to. Slamming out a side kick, she drove her heel into Tilly’s chest, driving her backward. Followed it with another. And another. Each one harder than the first. Harder. Harder.
Tilly screeched, stumbling over her heels, her arms pinwheeling.
“Rowan!”
Aslin roared her name, his voice the thunder of an approaching storm.
Her heart leapt into furious flight. He’s here. Oh God, he’s here.
Tilly’s stumbled, the Glock she’d pulled from her tote dropping from her grip. “No!”
Rowan didn’t track its path. Nor look to Aslin. She kept her stare locked on Tilly.
“He’s not yours,” the young woman screeched, lurching sideways as her knee crumpled beneath her weight. “He’s mine.” She curled her fists and lunged at Rowan with murderous hate. “He’s—”
Rowan threw herself into a jumping reverse spinning kick.
The world spun around her in a blur.
She saw Aslin run toward her. She saw Tilly try to duck her kick. The jolt of her heel slamming into Tilly’s temple reverberated up her leg. She saw Tilly fly backward.
And then Rowan was standing again, staring down at the woman’s motionless form on the ground.
Thank fuck for that.
The thought whispered through her mind on an exhausted gasp. She stumbled back a step, hissing as shards of searing pain sheared through her side.
Pressing her hands to her broken ribs, she raised her face to Aslin and watched him run toward her.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer.
“Chris is mine, cunt.”
The whispered words lashed at Row
an, a second before the sound of hands and feet scraping on the ground.
She snapped back to Tilly in time to see her reach for the Glock.
Grab it.
Aim it at her head.
“No!” Aslin shouted. He burst into Rowan’s line of sight, launching himself at Tilly. Slamming into her.
At the very moment the deafening crack of a gunshot shattered the air.
“No!” Rowan screamed. Her world went cold.
Ice.
She watched the man she loved crumple over the woman who’d tried to kill her, both falling to the ground. Her heart stopped.
Oh God, no. No.
She ran forward. To Aslin. It didn’t matter her ribs were splintering with every move she made.
It didn’t matter Tilly held a gun.
All that mattered was Aslin.
Aslin.
She ran, unable to breathe. To think.
To live.
She stumbled to a halt when Aslin slowly rose to his feet, the Glock in one hand, a writhing Tilly in the other.
“Lemme go!”
“You’re one more word away from me ending your life, love.” Aslin glared at Tilly, his British accent the most menacing Rowan had ever heard it.
A choked laugh burst from Rowan. Or maybe it was a sob. She ran to him, needing to be closer. To touch him. To prove to herself he was really alive.
Oh God, how could he be alive?
She quickened her limping gait, her stomach churning with sickening horror at the bright red stain beginning to bloom over his right side.
“You’re—”
“Police! Don’t move!”
Tilly began to thrash in Aslin’s hold. Rowan flinched and stumbled to a halt. She turned, another warm wave of relief washing over her at the sight of two police officers running toward them, guns drawn.
“Drop the weapon,” the closest officer yelled, leveling his gun on Aslin. “Now!”
Aslin slowly bent enough to drop the Glock to the ground, keeping his attention fixed on the approaching cops.
“Rowie!”
Rowan jerked around at the sound of Chris’s shout, biting back a wince when pain shot through her ribs.
Her brother ran toward her, relief fighting with worry on his face. Nigel and more than a dozen cast and crew followed.
“Chris!” Tilly wailed, her feverish stare locking on Chris. “I just wanted what’s best for you, that’s all. She was stopping me. Please, Chris. Tell them I’m better for you. Tell them. Tell them you need…” The plaintive cries turned to wordless sobs, and as Rowan watched, Tilly slumped in Aslin’s grip, her face wretched with grief.
“Are you okay, miss?” one of the cops asked Rowan, gun leveled at Tilly as his partner snared the sobbing young woman’s wrists and cuffed them behind her back.
Rowan nodded.
The officer turned to Aslin, his stance making it very clear he was ready to shoot if needed. “You, sir?”
Aslin dropped a quick glance at the small, but slowly spreading bloodstain on his side. “I’ll live.”
“Paramedics are on the way.”
Aslin chuckled, pressing his hand to his side and hissing in a breath. “Good.”
Before Rowan could close the distance between them, her brother slammed into her. “Jesus, sis,” he burst out, engulfing her in a hug. “I told you not to—”
“Chris,” she laughed. Or at least tried to. It was hard when he was holding her so tight. “You’re hurting me, squirt.”
He let her go with his own laugh. “Sorry.”
“Mr. Huntley?” Tilly’s whine made Rowan stiffen. “Please, Mr. Huntley…”
“That’s enough,” the cop holding her cuffs snapped.
Chris pulled Rowan back into his arms. “I’m sorry, Rowie,” he whispered into the top of her head, ignoring the whimpering woman he’d trusted for five years behind him. “I’m sorry.”
With a wince and a snort, Rowan gave his chest a slight shove. “Shut up, you moron.”
“I saw you in the newspaper,” the officer not patting Tilly down said, his eyes narrowing on Aslin. “You’re Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard, right?”
Aslin’s gaze slid to Rowan. “Not anymore.”
The cop raised an eyebrow at Aslin. “No?”
“About to embark on a career change.” Aslin returned his gaze to the officer. “Thinking personal trainer for a world-champion martial artist.”
Rowan’s heart, already pounding far too fast, thumped faster. Her breath caught in her throat.
“She’s clean,” the other officer said, tugging on Tilly’s now-cuffed wrists. “Time to go.” He looked up at Aslin. “We’ll be in touch, sir. Based on both your current states—” he gave Rowan a pointed glance “—there are quite a few questions to be answered.”
“In other words—” Aslin’s deep voice stroked over Rowan’s fraying senses, “—don’t leave town.”
The cop chuckled. “Not for a while, at least.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” his partner asked, frowning at the blood still seeping through Aslin’s shirt. “You’re a big bugger, but a bullet wound isn’t something to brush off.”
Aslin lowered his attention to his side, raising his stained shirt with steady hands. “I’ll…” He stumbled back a step, his legs buckling beneath him.
Rowan was at his side before he could fall, sliding her arm around his waist. Supporting him. Holding him even as pain tore at her ribs. “I’ve got you.”
He looked down at her, his lips curling into a slow smile. “Hope so.”
She smiled back. “Know so.”
Somewhere in the distance—or maybe it was right beside her, she’d lost track of anyone else—someone cleared their throat.
“Get a room you two,” Chris said.
“You were right.” Rowan gazed up at Aslin’s face, unable to look away. “Someone was trying to hurt me.”
He brushed his thumb over her split lip, a deep rage simmering in the back of his eyes. “She did hurt you. She’s lucky I didn’t kill her.”
“You got shot,” Rowan murmured, touching her fingers to the sticky red stain on Aslin’s side. It was a ridiculous thing to say, but she couldn’t think of anything else.
Aslin’s answering grin was crooked. “I’ve had worse.”
Rowan’s eyebrows shot up. “Worse?”
He nodded. “This is just a flesh wound. A bloody stubborn American put me on my arse a week ago and I still haven’t recovered.”
Warm joy flooded through Rowan. “A bloody stubborn American, eh?”
His dark eyes twinkled, his hands smoothing over her backside to hold her closer to his hips. “Thank God I love her, or I’d be forced to point out the fact she didn’t listen to me when I was trying to—”
“Yeah, yeah, soldier boy,” Rowan muttered, rising up onto tiptoe as she tangled one hand in his hair and tugged his head down to hers. “We’ve got a whole life ahead of us for you to tell me you were right and I was wrong. Now just shut up and kiss me, will ya.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered with a smile.
And he did.
Carefully.
Epilogue
“How many years were you Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard? I would have thought you’d be used to a red-carpet event by now.”
Aslin shifted on his seat in the stretch limo, fighting the urge to pull at his black bowtie. “Sixteen years counting this one.” He slid Rowan a sideward glance, unable to hide his wry grin. “But when I walked a red carpet as Nick’s bodyguard, no one was remotely interested in looking at me.”
Rowan leant across the seat a little and placed a soft kiss on his jaw. “I don’t know how anyone could not be interested in looking at you. Especially when you’re wearing a tux.” She smoothed her palm up his thigh, the tips of her fingers brushing the bulge of his groin in a caress Aslin had no doubt was planned. When it came to turning him on, his wife knew every possible tactic, no matter how seemingly innocent. It was, he�
��d conceded, a gift. One she utilized often. Very often in the most inconvenient of places.
God, he loved her.
“But as sexy as you do look in it,” she went on, her voice a husky whisper in his ear as she danced her fingers up the line of his rapidly responding dick through his trousers, “I can’t wait to go home and strip it off—”
He turned and captured her lips with his in a ferocious kiss before she could finish the wholly arousing promise.
She burst out laughing against his kiss, the throaty sound almost undoing Aslin’s control. The far-from-gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp as she tangled her fingers in his hair in response didn’t help.
He had half a mind to tap on the screen dividing them from the driver and tell the lad to take them home. Pronto.
Any decision so self-serving was taken away from him however, when the limo came to a halt and the screen was lowered. “We’re here, Mr. Rhodes.”
Rowan groaned into Aslin’s mouth. “Dammit.”
Aslin chuckled, pulling away from her soft lips. “Thanks, Jeff,” he said with a smile at Jeff Coulten.
“Your timing is impeccable as always, Jeff,” Rowan grumbled, giving Jeff a disgruntled glare as she straightened the cherry-red slip she wore.
Jeff grinned at them both in the rearview mirror. “Of course it is. Now hurry up and get out. Chris is just about to arrive on his Ducati behind us, and I can see Nick Blackthorne waiting at the end of the carpet.”
Rowan turned to Aslin. “Ready?”
He brushed a quick kiss on her lips before letting his fingers trail a tender path over the growing swell of her stomach. “Always. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
She snorted and gave him a shove. “Get out of the limo, soldier boy. The Dead Even premier is about to begin and your ex-boss is waiting for you.”
He flipped her a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Rowan’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it. I may be six months pregnant, but I can still put you on your ass.”
Aslin laughed and then turned to the door. With a deep breath, he counted to ten and stemmed the smile threatening to spread across his face. He had a reputation to uphold after all. Rowan Hemsworth-Rhodes’ husband was—at all times—a menacing, serious man. It wouldn’t do the world’s press to know otherwise.
Muscle for Hire Page 20
